


Opposition

by stormstaticsleep



Category: AFI
Genre: M/M, Post-Black Sails, Pre-Art of Drowning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4752020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormstaticsleep/pseuds/stormstaticsleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 2000, and Davey makes a mental inventory of everything that's wrong with Jade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I. August 2000

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to write this since last September after seeing AFI play at the Gorge. There were many moments that were, umm, _questionable_ , to say the least, so I was inspired to write something more lighthearted and fun. 
> 
> A few side notes: 
> 
> I can't promise quick updates because I'm in the middle of completing the full draft of my master's thesis, but I'll do my best. A girl does need her free time, after all. 
> 
> I don't know when exactly Jade claimed edge. I think I remember a recent interview where he said he's been edge for about fifteen years. By my best calculations, that means he was around 25. So I'm close? Oh, well, for the purposes of this story, he hasn't yet. Hooray for fiction.
> 
> Also, thank you very, very much for reading. I take the value of feedback and constructive criticism very seriously; words of encouragement or appreciation are always welcome.

_August 2000_

If Davey was honest with himself, a feat that was becoming increasingly difficult as of late, Jade wasn't even that attractive. 

For one, he had bad skin and crooked teeth. Two, his hands were freakishly large, and in all sincerity, borderline terrifying when they weren't holding a guitar. Three, the fingers on said hands were so long and bony that they could have belonged to an extraterrestrial. Four, his neck was utterly disproportionate to his head and he always wore that stupid choker, which really just made the problem of Jade's neck worse. 

Sipping at his water bottle, Davey eyed the choker in question from across the kitchen. Watched as it hugged the column of Jade's throat, the crest of his Adam's apple. It drew attention to the minute shadows that accentuated the dips of the clavicles just visible above the cut-off collar of his shirt. Davey's watching turned into a narrowed glare because that choker, even if it did make the problem worse, made it hard to discern _what_ exactly the original problem was when it seemed to divide Jade's neck into two separate territories Davey wanted to kiss until the world fucking imploded. 

White-hot anger prickled at the base of his skull, spreading towards his ears and eventually his cheeks. Davey slid around the archway between the kitchen and the living room and leaned into the wall, feeling his tensed shoulders wilt. He pulled and peeled and twisted the label on his water bottle until the pieces fluttered to his feet. He came to the conclusion that it didn't matter what the original problem was, the absurdity of Jade's neck or his desire for it despite it absurdity. The choker spawned myriad thoughts that were becoming so inconvenient he feared they would plummet him into either insanity or an early grave. Like now, he'd caught himself fantasizing about catching that choker with his teeth too many times. Too many times, in fact, that he'd thought he might already _be_ crazy. It sent him into a slowly simmering rage that left him wanting to rip the choker off and toss it onto Channing so he didn't have to fucking look at it anymore.

Taking a breath, he regained his composure and ceased the mutilation of his water bottle. Whenever he got thinking like that, no matter how justified it seemed to be or that it made him feel better, he knew it was obnoxious and really mean. Davey was reasonable enough to assume that Jade didn't do these things on purpose. Jade, when divorced from the convoluted equation of Davey's feelings for him, was his friend. A member of his band. His writing partner. He'd gone to AFI's first show before he'd ever dreamed of being their guitarist. Before Davey had equally never imagined that his songs would be brought to life with Jade's deft manipulation of strings. But Davey definitely hadn't spent the last hour mentally cataloging why he hated Adam and Hunter, why he didn't _actually_ find them attractive. Davey sometimes speculated that he did this because he'd been Jade's friend since high school. That didn't add up, though, because he'd been friends with Adam much longer. And Adam's relative level of attractiveness couldn't have been farther from his radar. Rather than do the arithmetic, he preferred not to dwell on the reality that _x_ did not stand for the duration of their friendship. So, his recent thinking was obnoxious and really mean, but it was also necessary. It was his survival, the last rusted bolt that miraculously kept him from unhinging. 

Besides, the heat made him the most disagreeable of creatures to begin with. And the scores of drunk people occupying his kitchen, his living room, and spilling onto the front and back porches, had him seething. The drunks were everywhere, buzzing and cloying not unlike the droves of mosquitoes and pestering insects being let in through the open windows; as stifling and sweat-inducing as the stagnant summer air. 

A peel of laughter poured from the kitchen to where Davey was standing. He didn't have the faintest recollection of what face that laugh belonged to, which curdled his already sour mood. To make matters worse, the party had brought strangers to his house. Living on frat row, being a part of the Berkeley punk scene, and living with eight other members of said scene rendered all attempts to resist this predicament futile. Strangers, especially drunk strangers, especially _drunk, sorority and frat affiliated or punk strangers_ , were invariably hazardous. In spite of their marked differences in musical tastes and fashion sense, they shared a special proclivity for vomiting in very problematic locations, like in between the sofa cushions or the sink, and a blatant disregard for material possessions. Davey gripped his water bottle, feeling the plastic yield and crinkle.

He braced his hand against the archway and craned his head around the frame to investigate. The crowd hovering around the table had shifted. He saw a guy with a violently green mohawk and an enormous septum piercing chatting animatedly with Jade, Smith, and Adam. He couldn't hear the specifics of what they were saying, but five, Jade had a nasty habit of over-elongating his vowels, and his voice was carrying. Davey caught the unfortunate words "tour", "music", and "you know" and cringed. 

When Jade lifted his arm to high-five Adam (which brought Davey to number six on his list of why Jade was actually unattractive and therefore deserving of his hatred; he was embarrassingly awful at social interaction, but it wasn't like Davey was _counting_ for Christ's sake), his sleeve rose enough to remind Davey that Jade also had shitty tattoos. Davey spied the ugly, black, scarred tribal band. The ugly, black, scarred tribal band, which was so obviously unoriginal that it was thoroughly lame and _unpunk_ and made Davey want to scream until his throat was raw. 

Suddenly, over the brim of his red plastic cup, Jade's gaze found Davey's. He smiled and gave him a tiny nod, as if to invite Davey into the fun he was purposefully excluding himself from. Davey shook his head, trying to remain unfazed by the slowly sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Jade's tight-lipped smiles were far from unattractive; they often looked simultaneously shy and enticing, even though he never intended them to. Genuine and thusly beautiful because they betrayed his insecurities. 

Jade quirked a brow, smiling again as he mouthed, "You good?"

And what sent Davey over the edge is he knew Jade smiled that way because _Jade_ knew his teeth were a fucking travesty. Floundering, Davey turned on his heel, stormed onto the front porch, and slammed the screen door shut for emphasis. There were people congregated into groups there, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. Their mingled conversations blissfully muted the rage pulsing behind Davey's eardrums. He went to the farthest corner of the porch, clamped his fingers around the railing, and cut his losses. He'd rather be engulfed and steadily poisoned by tobacco smoke and alcohol fumes than endure another second of Jade's presence. He found Jade's presence to be just as engulfing and poisoning but far more potentially damaging to his health.

Now that they weren't on tour and squished inside the van and smelly hotel rooms like sardines, Davey's primary strategy concerning Jade was avoidance and disparagement. He told himself that if he ignored the issue, mocked Jade until he was irredeemable, and ridiculed him, the issue would go away. Since tour, Davey had been coming up with the dumbest shit imaginable to avoid Jade, which was kind of hard considering that they did _everyfuckingthing_ together. Jade hardly even _slept_ in his own bed, anymore. So he did things he knew Jade had no interest in participating in, like jogging around campus until his knees felt like to burst and his calves and lungs alike were on fire. Or sneaking into said campus's student gym and running mile after excruciating mile on the treadmill. Basically, it was a lot of running, because Jade, despite his (seven) utterly ridiculous claims regarding his efficiency as a ninja and his status as the buffest guitarist this side of town, did not enjoy physical activity. That he chose to avoid Jade by running was not lost on Davey. 

Davey _had_ to avoid and disparage Jade lest he looked at him too long or succumbed to the yawning ache in his chest and kissed him in the middle of the goddamn living room or something just as assuredly earth-shattering and life-ending. Because he did want to do those earth-shattering, life-ending things to Jade. He'd thought about them and their consequences on a near consistent basis ever since they'd finished writing _Black Sails_. If he was honest with himself again, not that he was going to be, he'd probably _always_ wanted to, but _Black Sails_ had been when it crept into his consciousness with all the subtlety of a traffic collision on I-5. _Black Sails_ had been when what he'd ascribed to his respect for Jade's incredible musical talent and appreciation for his dry, sarcastic humor had morphed suddenly, with no warning nor preparation, into something less distinguishable, what he might have called a borderline obsessive fascination. 

He'd seen those freakishly large hands and bony fingers become lithe and graceful. Watched as they swept across the fret board so effortlessly that Davey almost missed the careful, calculated purpose Jade put behind every single note, every single stretch it took to make a chord. He'd heard Jade's breathing above the slightly metallic squeak as his fingers slipped over the strings. Seen Jade's lips part, eventually going slack in his concentration; the gentle furrow of his brow, the lashes around dark eyes ghosting the prominent rise of his cheekbones as his lids fluttered closed. 

The hours he spent writing with Jade, talking about everything and nothing with Jade, passing out with Jade in his bed because they'd been writing and talking about everything and nothing for too fucking long, were the happiest Davey had probably ever been. They were becoming more cathartic than going to shows, more cathartic than _playing shows_ , and they took him on a high that floated him from the ground and into the atmosphere. They caused Davey's body to become a symphony of contentment and pulled him, so close to drowning, from the turbulent waters of his depression and fear. Jade and what they created together encouraged pride to settle deep in Davey's chest, warm and undulating until it glowed bright and left him feeling as if he could conquer the universe. 

Tour had crystallized his growing fascination into a fat, bloated infatuation that gorged itself on every miniscule moment of contact Davey had with Jade. Davey had found himself making excuses to grab Jade's shoulder or tuck a curl of hair behind his ear or to hand him a water bottle just so their fingers would brush. He'd done that shit at home, he did that shit with _everybody_ anyway, but on tour, he noticed just how often he manipulated the circumstances so he could do it to Jade. On stage, his infatuation hungered endlessly for the gust of hot air that Jade left in his wake after spinning around with his guitar and the press of Jade's rib cage through his sweaty t-shirt when he shared Davey's microphone. Jade let Davey slam into him, touch the small of his back, throw an arm around his neck and make a fist around sopping cotton while they sang together. Davey started doing the grabbing and touching more frequently as a test, but Jade didn't seem to care. He'd laugh and smile, returning Davey's bear-hugs and other unwarranted physical affection with matched enthusiasm. He let Davey do all of it, no matter the frequency, because, well, eight, Jade was a huge pushover. 

It was hard to admit that, to be honest, because as Davey began to realize on the return trip to Berkeley, half asleep on Jade's shoulder, that these things meant he was in love with Jade, these warm feelings were dampened with the acutely sharp pain of wanting something desperately that he could not have. And it pissed Davey off to the most extreme of ends that he could have anyone he wanted but he wanted _Jade fucking Puget_ and his fucked up teeth because the world was complicated and seriously unfair.


	2. II. August 2000

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's an update! Thanks for continuing to read!

"Hey, Dave," a low baritone emanated from somewhere to his left, and Davey's nails gouged instinctively at the wooden railing. "You okay?" From his peripheral vision, Davey saw a white, freckled hand grasp his shoulder. 

"Yes, I'm _fine_." Davey replied tersely, shrugging the hand from his shoulder as he turned around.

Jade's eyes were sincere and looked distantly hurt without being accusatory. Chocolate brown and flecked with gold, full of promise and imminent destruction, they pulled Davey in like a siren song. Davey almost physically slipped into their depths, leaning closer to Jade without meaning to before he snapped out of it. He rested his elbows on the top of the railing and crossed his feet at his ankles to anchor himself. 

Nine. Nine. _Nine_ , Jade ate dairy. This was unacceptable and incompatible with Davey's lifestyle and life choices. Just that morning, while Davey had snuck glances at Jade's ass inconspicuously from the couch while it swayed to the beat of the Jawbreaker record he'd had playing in the living room, he'd seen Jade put _creamer_ in his coffee and grease the pan on the stove with _butter_. And then, he'd watched, horrified, while Jade cracked the shell of an _egg_ against the pan and scrambled the _unfertilized chicken embryo_ with the spatula held in his gross hand. Davey had looked at Jade as he walked to the refrigerator, admiring his calves when he opened it and bent to rifle through the shelves. What Jade had retrieved was, unquestionably, a packet of grated _cheese_ , which he proceeded to sprinkle over his breakfast à la carnage and suffering.

Throughout Davey's internal monologue, Jade regarded him quizzically while carding his fingers through his hair. He coughed and swatted a puff of cigarette smoke from his face when the girl behind him lit up. "You're sure? Cuz I could've sworn you've been, uhh, _avoiding me_." He raised his other hand from his hip and brought the cup it was holding to his lips. But then he paused, the finger towards the roof testament to his revelation. "Actually, you were, you know, avoiding me this morning? And last night. _And_ yesterday, too." 

"I have not been avoiding _you_." Davey scoffed. "I've been avoiding _people_ in general. So don't go feeling special." 

"And when you're, you know, _around_ me, you've been staring at me like - like you, umm, wanna kill me?" Jade continued like he hadn't heard Davey. He hiccupped and added, "Dave, it's kinda weird." 

Davey swallowed, nearly panicking before he noticed that Jade was almost imperceptibly swaying, that his cheeks were flushed, and that he was relying on the phrase "you know" more often than he usually did. Feeling triumphant and relieved, Davey concluded that Jade was drunk. And he could, no doubt, out-smart a drunk person. 

"Like I said, I've been avoiding people, and you are people." Davey said as Jade sipped his drink. A small trickle of it ran down the corner of his mouth and along his chin. Jade sputtered and went to grab the hem of his shirt, which he swiped hastily across his face. Davey saw a glimpse of his pale albeit muscled torso and the definition of his hips above the low-slung waistband of his Dickie's and had to remind himself that Jade, obviously _drunk_ Jade, was not attractive. He was sloppy and now grinning like an idiot, not even bothering to hide his teeth. It sent self-righteous, straightedge indignation coursing through Davey's veins. "And we'll be recording and touring again soon. Trust me, after being crammed with me in the studio and then in a van for two months, you'll thank me later." 

Jade snorted. "I dunno, man. That sounds like bullshit." He gestured vaguely to Davey with his cup, a fair amount of amber liquid sloshing over the brim. "Also, I've already toured with you, just so you know." 

"Well, it's not like I'm gonna go in there and _drink_ with you." Davey replied. "In case you forgot." 

Jade placed his hands on his gut, feigning that he was doubled-over in pain. He tipped his cup again in the process. "Ouch, dude. Low blow. Think I'll survive?" He righted himself and laughed. However, when Davey looked at him reproachfully, his smile drooped at the corners of his mouth and turned into a quasi-frown. Jade adverted his eyes and peered into his empty cup. "Okay, so, I'm gonna go get another one of these. Think most of it's, you know, on the, umm, _porch_." 

Davey was close to saying, "Yeah, no shit," before the context of the present situation hit him like a fucking freight train. 

Ten, motherfucking _ten_ , Jade was drinking alcohol. Jade was _drunk_. It racked Davey's tally up to eleven, twelve, _thirteen_. Alcohol was disgusting. It was vile. Furthermore, the fact that Jade was drinking meant that Jade was also a liar. They'd spent hours upon hours in between writing discussing edge, and Jade had _sworn_ he was considering it. He'd _confessed_ on numerous occasions that he wanted to but didn't know how to go about doing it. He'd sought Davey's advice and support, his counsel like Davey was a goddamn straightedge guild master, told him that he was worried about what it meant for some of his friendships. But there he was, about to return to fucking _drinking_ with his brother and their drummer and a stranger like he didn't give a shit. _Fourteen_ , Jade was an insufferable hypocrite. 

These thoughts rushed through Davey's head, frenzied, fevered as he watched Jade make his way to the front door. In the back of his mind, he appreciated that Jade's legs went on and on for days, even if they were overzealously covered with freckles and wiry auburn hair. 

"No, wait." Davey said before he even registered he was saying it. Pushing off the railing, he cut through the crowd and grabbed Jade's shoulder. Jade stopped just short of stumbling and turned around. "I need to talk to you." Davey blurted, detesting the urgency in his voice. "Right now." 

Jade scratched his head and said, "Like, right _now_ , right now?" 

"Yes," Davey answered in a rush. "Right now." 

Saluting him unsteadily, Jade replied, "Go for it, dude." 

Davey bit his lip. "Not here." 

"Huh?" Jade cocked his head. "Why not?" 

"Just - just - " Davey refrained from stamping his foot. " _Because_ , Jade." 

"Ooookay," Jade drawled, rolling his eyes. "Well, umm, where did you wanna - " And he lurched forward, the unasked question heavy between them, when Davey started pulling Jade by the crook of his elbow through the front door and towards his bedroom on autopilot. Weaving through the sea of bodies, Davey neared the end of the hall, and came to such an abrupt halt that Jade fell into him and giggled. Davey realized with that same slowly sinking feeling that his bedroom was far too risky a space to have this conversation. His bedroom was the source of his godforsaken obsession. 

"Where're we goin'?" Jade slurred and without hesitating, Davey decided on the bathroom because the bathroom, which he shared with the entire first floor of the house, was completely un-sexy. Between the spots of toothpaste and popped whiteheads on the mirror, the remnants of facial whiskers in the sink, and various biological debris belonging to four other individuals, he was safe. It's lack of sex appeal was second only to imagining baby seals getting clubbed to death on the Arctic tundra or herds of drugged cattle being forced into a slaughterhouse. 

Miraculously, the bathroom was unoccupied. Davey towed Jade inside and shut the door behind them. He bolted it shut. When he returned his attention to Jade, he found him standing dazedly near the sink. Jade swiped a finger across the countertop and grimaced. "You know, Dave, it's like hella filthy in here." And then he burst into laughter. 

Davey was _so_ over drunk people and their drunk people observations. Inwardly groaning, he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. When he opened them, he felt the sting of smeared mascara. He blinked several times until his vision adjusted. The first thing he saw was the red plastic cup wrapped in Jade's long, ghoulish fingers. And he fucking lost it. Davey snatched the cup from him and flung it into the bathtub. 

A moment passed and all Davey could hear was his own labored breathing and the whooshing of the blood inside his ears. Jade's hand was still crooked like he was holding the cup. Jade looked at it slowly, turning the empty appendage side to side, before following the trail of the cup's projectile into the bathtub. 

"Dave, man, the fuck?" Jade said, eyes that seemed more perplexed than mad rising to meet Davey's. 

Davey blinked again, mouth opening and closing, caught between swallowing and uttering an automatic apology. He didn't like the tone of Jade's voice as it slipped into its lowest octaves. It was husky and thick, sounding almost like when they'd been writing and drinking too much coffee and hadn't slept in three days. 

Davey acted on this threat with his fight instinct. He barreled forward, catching his unsuspecting quarry in a tackle around his middle. Jade wheezed, hitting the wall behind them with enough force that it sent an assortment of pilfered motel toiletries from the shelf below the mirror clattering to the tile. Davey's hands flew from Jade's waist and went to his wrists, pinning them on either side of Jade's head. Shoulders barred, Davey pressed his chest into Jade's to accommodate for the height difference. 

Initially, Jade struggled, cursing and trying his damndest to break free. But in the end, the height difference didn't matter. Davey was the one who spent hours at the gym avoiding Jade while Jade sat on the couch playing video games. 

"Dave?" Jade asked tightly. Davey didn't answer, merely gritted his teeth and adjusted his grip. Jade started to wriggle again and Davey narrowed his eyes until he stopped. "Dave, seriously. the fuck." 

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ, just shut up." Davey hissed, raising his head and steeling his jaw. Jade's eyes were ticking back and forth bewilderedly. Their faces were at such a proximity that Davey could tell pores from freckles on Jade's skin. 

"What did I _do_?" Jade rasped. There was liquor on his breath, warm and oaky with a sweet finish. Somehow, it didn't make Jade less attractive. 

And because it didn't, Davey said emphatically, "You are so _unfuckingbelivably_ infuriating." From the pulse under his fingertips, he knew Jade's heart was beating rodent-fast. 

Jade whined like a petulant child. "Is this about the soymilk, because, Dave, I already _told_ you, that was _Hunter_ , not - " 

"This is about the soymilk!" Jade was saying his name too frequently for Davey's liking. In his frustration, Jade elongated the vowels so that the singular syllable of it became as graceful as a swan's neck. Perhaps, Davey thought, as graceful as _Jade's_ neck from this angle. 

"Can I, you know, go then?" Jade glanced quickly to where Davey was holding his wrist. "Also, can I have my hands back? Sorta need those, yeah?" 

"No, you can't." Davey said sharply, only just remembering why he'd gotten himself into this predicament. "Why are you drinking?" 

For a second, Jade looked like he was having difficulty following. Relief washed over his face as he choked out a laugh. " _That's_ why you're pissed? Dave - " 

"We talked about it. Fucking _talked_ about it, Jade. Over and over." Davey countered. "So, really, I want to know why you're drinking." 

"Because," Jade said stiffly as his features darkened, appearing ashamed and sad. "I think - I, umm, think I'm gonna claim edge tomorrow and I wanted to, you know, get it outta my system?" His voice rose in pitch at the end, turning it into a question. 

Fifteen, Jade's sense of logic was fucked. He had a college degree and didn't even understand foundational argumentation. But it was like Davey was so attracted to Jade's unattractiveness that this was but a moot point. Like his teeth and his hands and the choker, it was another meaningless flaw in a catastrophically flawed individual. Davey wasn't sure why he even bothered counting. 

"You don't get something out of your system by putting it _into_ your system!" 

"Dave, _c'mon_." Jade protested, beginning to squirm again. "I fucking _know_ that. I'm sorry, okay?" He stuck his foot in between Davey's shins. Not expecting it, Davey's legs involuntarily spread and the top of Jade's thigh grazed the bottom of his crotch. And the blood that had been fueling his anger went straight from his head. 

As straightedge and vegan, Davey considered self-control to be one of his better qualities. But Davey could not control himself around Jade. Jade liquefied his brain into half developed mush, a primordial ooze that thought only in the most basic and instinctual of terms. And it made Davey, the drop-out English major with an arsenal of poetic devise at his disposal, think really hackneyed, and therefore, un-poetic shit. Un-poetic shit about the sun tangling itself in Jade's hair. His weak knees and his stomach doing summersaults at the slightest touch from Jade, whether it was a playful jab in the ribs or taking a pen from his hand. Jade borrowing his shirts and Davey pretending to be pissed but being secretly pleased because, after Jade was done with them, they smelled like a closer and more intimate version of Jade. Un-poetic shit that probably meant Jade was his soul-mate. Davey shuddered, because words like "soul-mate" send bile rising in his throat. As a result, he was thoroughly disgusted with himself. With his lack of self-control. He was going to let Jade fucking _have_ it. 

What Davey said next could not be contained. It had been festering inside of him for months, years for all he knew. 

"Your hands are scary, your teeth are fucking gross, your neck freaks me the fuck out, and - " Davey sucked in a ragged gulp of air, "And you talk like a fucking valley girl." 

Jade looked alarmed, stunned enough that he ceased struggling and just stood there. 

"Your tattoos are atrocious, you eat fucking dairy, and _you're_ drinking alcohol tonight - " 

" _Was_ drinking alcohol," Jade finally muttered under his breath but Davey continued to prattle on. 

"I have this list actually. Did you know that? I keep a mental fucking list of all the reasons why I should hate your guts, why I shouldn't find you attractive - all these reasons that you drive me absolutely _insane_..." Davey said, his voice losing its indignant edge and trailing into something softer, more forlorn, more exhausted and defeated. "But then I realize that I'm just mad because I _don't_ hate you. I can't make myself hate you." 

Jade blinked. Davey could actually see him as he pondered his response. "Wait, I - what? Umm, I'm sorry?" Jade nibbled his lower lip. "I'm sorry, I guess, for, uhh, you know, _existing_?" 

Davey hardly heard him. "And I hate that I want to kiss you right now, I've wanted to kiss you all fucking _day_ \- " He paused, audibly gulped and figured the damage was already done. "I want to kiss you, even though you're drunk and it will probably be terrible." 

"Why would it be terrible?" Jade asked, visibly offended. "I mean, you know, I'm not like - _bad_ at it or anything." 

"Because," Davey started, acutely aware of how close they were and that Jade wasn't pulling away. "It would be terrible because I'd like it, in spite of you being drunk and stupid and a hypocrite." 

Jade's gaze narrowed as if in challenge. He pushed himself off the wall suddenly and Davey slammed him back into it. "Why don't you just do it then, huh?" Jade croaked, his voice breaking. His eyes were steadfast and unwavering though Davey could feel him trembling. "Maybe you'll hate that, too." 

And to prove Jade right, Davey did. 


End file.
